


Vile Taste

by hollowfirefly



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon has to work for money, Fan-poem, Filthy Lucre Poem, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-05
Packaged: 2018-01-03 13:40:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollowfirefly/pseuds/hollowfirefly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take a breath<br/>Count to ten<br/>Fifty<br/>One hundred.<br/>Take a smaller breath<br/>So that they don’t hear you breathing<br/>They’d pay more to have you die<br/>They’d rather have you dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vile Taste

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Filthy Lucre.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1039530) by [risky_business](https://archiveofourown.org/users/risky_business/pseuds/risky_business). 



> It's such an amazing story and I got inspiration to write this poem about it.

Take a breath

Count to ten

Fifty

One hundred.

Take a smaller breath

So that they don’t hear you breathing

They’d pay more to have you die

They’d rather have you dead.

You allowed for this

You let the pain come

You blame yourself and you try to forget

Thirty three minutes and it’s done.

But even when he leaves you can taste him on your tongue

An unpleasant, bitter, vile taste

Even when he’s gone you can feel the dull ache inside

The absence is evident and you’re not sure what’s worse.

When they told you that you’d go far

Far where?

Because you’ve come pretty far

Just not where you were going.

New York City is where dreams take you

And once you get there you soon realize.

That they fade and die

Because you can’t make a dream without money.

And you can’t pay for happiness.

And you can’t breathe when he’s around.

And you can’t think when the men push you down.

But you have to keep pushing through

If not for him but for you

But it’s so hard when you can still taste the blood

And the bruises aren’t fading.

Your feet are grounded

Stuck in mud.


End file.
